


Your Empty Smile and Your Hungry Heart

by Ryukin



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Major Illness, Manipulation, Psychologists & Psychiatrists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2020-11-28 21:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20973275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryukin/pseuds/Ryukin
Summary: Doctor Mohinder Suresh is called to the States by the secretive Company to assess their most dangerous captive - a psychopathic murderer known as 'Sylar'. As the Company and the world show their true dark colors, Mohinder finds himself entangled further with Sylar. What is real, what is manipulation, and who is responsible for the rash of evolved human deaths?





	1. Zero

Doctor Mohinder Suresh stared into the tea he was swirling around in a disposable paper cup. Another dull, flavorless cup from another dull, tasteless cafe.

The tea had gone cold and he pitched it in the trash. Another traveler, bundled in a coat, scarf, and enough bags to conceal themselves from social niceties, bumped roughly against him. For a moment, Mohinder tottered at the edge of the bin and the stupid thought of throwing himself in there, among the trash and the castoffs, flitted through his mind. 

He flipped the collar of his coat up against the ice strangling his guts. Just another cold traveler in another cold airport. 

He bumped against a couple shuffling people, ping ponged between them, pretending not to hear their muttered complaints and ducked out into the dull gray morning. 

Why he was in _ New York _ of all places, in the dead of winter, he just didn't know. 

Okay, he did know. It was weighing him down, the bone deep chill in his stomach, the brick weight of paperwork in his cross body bag.

He had read the enclosed files enough he could recite them, like his childhood favorite novels or the more novel excerpts of his father's inflammatory book. 

He flagged a taxi down and gave the address for the block of buildings he was due at.

He watched the airport drop away as they pulled from the curb. He tucked into his scarf further, hands balled in his pockets. The driver turned the heater up, adjusting the vents to face the backseat, but Mohinder protested, saying no, it was alright. He was alright.

He was not the kind of cold that could be helped with a tiny blast of motor-hot air. 

Mohinder hadn't been able to kick the ice fingers of fear tangling in his stomach since he had hung up with … his new employer? He was a little lost with where he stood with the man who has called from a place only referred to as the Company. Noah Bennett had emphasised the word enough on their single phone call that Mohinder had barely paused to write it as a proper noun when he took down the address and his flight information.

Mister Bennett had told him that he was needed on a special investigation in the States, one he kept vague on the details of over the phone, but something in the weighted silences between what he  _ had _ said caught Mohinder's interest. 

Mohinder - Doctor Suresh to his patients in Chennai, nothing more than a disappointment to his father who had expected him to follow his footsteps into the fringe of human genetic studies,  _ kanmani _ to his mother, her baby even as an adult, and on one cringe worthy drunk night, Mo, uttered by the last woman he had picked up in a bar, a month after breaking off his engagement, what she thought would be cute as she rode him into depressing orgasm - Mohinder had been spinning his chair back and forth, propelled with a kick on the legs of his desk, semicircle and semicircle and semicircle to be interrupted by a phone call. Too late to be a professional call, Mohinder too sequestered for it to be personal, he hadn't expected much when he answered, holding his head still against dizziness.

He thought it was a prank. United States calling. Will you accept?

He knew that song. He was tempted to hang up and complete the joke. 

He accepted, Bennett's words at least. Bennett's offer. "It's - it's too much to say, not over the phone. You really haven't heard? I'll fax you the files. It's a lot, make sure your paper is full. It's - You'll see. We need you, Suresh. You'll fly out tomorrow?"

A statement, not an offer. Yes, he would fly out tomorrow. Yes, go ahead, he repeated the address for a tinny confirmation over the international line, scribbling it crossways over the bottom of a lined sheet of paper. Notes from the session with the afternoon's last patient. Notes about her worries, her fears, Mohinder's professional diagnosis of anxiety and personal diagnosis of neurotic neediness. 

He ripped the address free from his notes, shaking his head at his carelessness. He had to call for a replacement psychiatrist and now hand over ripped notes. Real professional, Suresh. 

"Doctor Suresh?"

"Yes." He had folded the slip of paper into his pocket as the fax machine in the corner of his office started spitting out papers. He grabbed the cover sheet and threw it away, arms crossed as he waited for the first real paper. 

"The flight is set up. You'll have an expense card for anything you may need in New York. There's no need to pack. We'll see you soon."

"Right. Flight. Don't pack." He glanced over the first pages - medical examiner's reports. Cause of death: cardiac arrest due to ... partial beheading? Flipping to the next page was no better. Another death certificate. Exsanguinated. Next: dismembered. 

Limbs piled up in his mind's eye, headless bodies and bodiless heads, lifeless eyes glazed as they stare eternally at nothing. 

He shivered, fear creeping over the back of his neck like watching eyes. "Why did you say you need me?" His voice sounded distant in his own ears. 

Bennett's reply cut him off. "You leave at one forty tomorrow. Goodbye, Doctor Suresh." He had hung up before Mohinder's stilted farewell fell from his mouth.

He grabbed another page from the fax machine, scanning the photocopied newspaper article from the Odessa American, dated eleven months prior. A murder at a high school. 

"Wait, one forty  _ in the morning _ ?" He looked to the phone cradled on his desk for an answer. The clock on the wall read six thirty-seven. The fax machine spewed papers to the floor as it churned out nightmares. 

Mohinder scooped them up and knew he wouldn't sleep. 

In the cab on the way to the mysterious Company, he yawned. His bag rested heavily against his leg. It was useless to resist digging through it, as useless as the wish for sleep had been. 

He had marked a couple pages and ran his fingers across the creases marring them from when he had finally passed out on the plane clutching them in his hands. 

The flight had taken almost twenty three hours, he had passed out for maybe two of them. He had woken up abruptly with a gasp, face down on the service tray, head bouncing as they hit sudden turbulence. 

His hands shook as he unfolded the fist he had around the papers. Medical files, psychiatric reports, and the only photo of the perpetrator of all the horrors the files contained. 

Mohinder's fingers shook again as he extracted the photo from the files. Pink Floyd still rattled in his head from the previous night and he muttered, "Who's gonna show this stranger around?"

"I'm sorry?" The driver looked back in the rearview mirror. Mohinder shook his head. 

He didn't look up from the photo in his hand, a poor ditto, but with the backstory Mohinder had read and read again, it was chilling. 

It could have been a mugshot, if the subject had been holding an identifying board. It was not, though, at least not from a police station. The thought that whatever the Company was could be less than legal rang at the back of Mohinder's mind. He ignored it for the photo.

A man looking about his own age, but from the files was ten years his younger, stood against a blank wall. His white shirt looked grungy, splattered at the collar with something that thankfully didn't come through in color over the fax. His face looked waxy, chin and cheeks overgrown with messy stubble. His dark hair was messily swept up, leaving his eyes clear. 

His eyes. 

Mohinder had once visited the aquarium when he did his residency in London, and had gone swimming with sharks. Supervised, protected by a cage, and they were small sharks, but sharks nonetheless. 

The man had the same eyes. 

Dark, empty, possessed with a hunger Mohinder could not connect with. He had feral eyes, matched only by the cocky grin, pulled sideways to show the hint of sharp teeth. 

A shark's eyes, a shark's grin, a shark's hunger staring up at him from the page. 

Mohinder could feel the man's hunger from the crumpled photo, it felt like he hungered for  _ him _ . 

He knew it was ridiculous. It was just a photograph, a moment that had nothing to do with him captured on film, scanned and smeared as it was sent digitally to his printer. 

Mohinder was tired, he was hungry, and maybe a bit delirious. He had spent the evening reading up on the atrocities this man had committed and now he was projecting his fears on the damn photograph. 

With a sigh, he tucked it back in his bag, between papers and hidden from sight. 

It was not hidden from his mind, though, as he watched with blank eyes as the city whipped by. The man's eyes burned against the back of Mohinder's neck and he fluffed his scarf higher. 

_Gabriel Gray_ the files named him. _Wanted for matricide._ _Volatile. Dangerous. Unpredictable. _The rest of the files were murders with a strikingly similar modus operandi - skulls cleaved apart, brains missing, dismembered limbs, bodies near exploded with the force of an unknown pressure. It was stated that they too were Gray's work, connected together in interdepartmental memos, redacted for privacy of the company (_the Company_ his mind corrected) but not the victims. 

The taxi driver let them continue in silence, slowing as he went down a long road of nothing, under an overpass and through a dark tunnel. Mohinder couldn't see anything out the window. The gray sky didn't offer much more as they continued down the empty road. 

He jerked awake as they braked, unaware he had nodded off. The taxi driver rolled the window down to a man waving him down from a guard post; the steel gate he was guarding offered no information as to where or what it protected, just an address. 

The guard motioned for Mohinder to exit as he spoke into the walkie clipped to his shirt. Mohinder did, standing in limbo by the cab as the driver's meter clocked time. 

He turned to the gate as a vehicle approached from the other side. The guard didn't look away. Mohinder worried that his hand hadn't left its hovering position over his holstered gun. 

The gate opened slowly to a black SUV, tinted windows reflecting the gray clouds back as a man hopped from the back seat and raised a hand in greeting. 

The newcomer, a larger man with a hairline receding to the mere memory of hair, leaned into the taxi window. He held a wad of cash up. "You were never here. Correct?" The cab driver was silent until the man fanned the bills out. Mohinder blinked. There had to be a thousand dollars in his hand. 

"I was never where?" The cabbie turned a quick eye back to Mohinder, an apology in his eyes. Like that should be a worthy consolation if Mohinder happened to be murdered or anything. He made a three point turn around the men and sped out of there. 

"Well, then." The large man turned to Mohinder, motioning to the guard, who demand Mohinder's identification. He took it back to the post, leaving Mohinder in silence with the newcomer. The SUV was idling a couple meters away. He brought Mohinder's passport back and with a curt nod to the man, returned to his post. 

"Doctor Suresh. Welcome." He extended his hand but not the name or purpose of the facility. If Mohinder was to be murdered, he had walked right into it, he figured. 

He shook the man's hand. It was warm despite the cold, and he sandwiched Mohinder's hand with his other one, radiating warmth from the handshake and the smile crossing his face. Mohinder couldn't muster a grin back. "Mister Bennett?" he questioned, knowing full well his voice didn't match the one on the phone but clinging to any sense of familiarity in the strange situation. 

The man laughed, more warmth, and said, "No, no. Bennett will be with you soon. I'm Bob. Thank you for coming on such short notice. Shall we?" He turned to the SUV without waiting. 

Mohinder swung into the back seat opposite Bob and buckled. Bob didn't. "So, um." He didn't know where to begin. The car with its silent driver reversed smoothly and drove back into the complex. The large gate closed behind them. Mohinder saw it had locks that had to be put in place by another guard stationed inside. 

"Ah, yes. You have the files, yes? You read them?" Mohinder nodded. "We need help. Are you familiar with the files?"

"Yes, but I don't see -"

Bob waved him to silence. "In person is always better."

"In person? I'm here to, I'm to see this -"

"We need your professional opinion."

Mohinder blinked. "I don't do criminal psychology. Why me? How did you even come across my name?" He was just a psychiatrist in Chennai, and certainly not the best one. He had taught only a couple community college courses after his residency. Nothing shocking or new had ever come out of his cases either. 

Bob simply smiled and turned to the window. 

They drove deeper into the complex, past innocuous office buildings, warehouses and trailers. They didn't pass any people. 

The car coasted to a stop. "This is us," Bob said, jumping out with grace. Mohinder stumbled, legs numb from travel. Bob was waiting for him, holding the building's door open for him. They were greeted by another stone-faced guard. Mohinder signed in, his identification was checked again, and the guard handed him a clipboard and pen. 

Mohinder barely glanced at the papers when Bob chimed in, "Just a standard NDA. For your protection and our own."

Mohinder skimmed it. "I need to sign a non-disclosure agreement?" At Bob's silence, he did. He was already there, might as well continue. He traded the guard the clipboard for a manila envelope. 

"That's your access badge, a card for any expenses, your room keys. We have you set up in the dorms here. You can summon a car from any building. It can take you anywhere in the complex," Bob said. 

"What about leaving?"

Bob waved him quiet. "There's a commissary and cafeteria. You can request anything you need. Come." Mohinder followed him down a dull empty hall. Closed doors lined the way, each with an electronic card reader. 

"Where does the access card work?" Mohinder turned it over in his hands. It was just thick, blank white plastic. 

"You'll have access to everything you need." Another not exactly forthcoming answer. Bob scanned his own card and held the last door in the hall open. He followed Mohinder in, the door clicking shut behind him. Mohinder heard electronic locks shut them in. 

A large uniformed police officer sat across the small room, less intimidating than the guards as he looked up from his half unwrapped sub with a curious smile. 

"Hey boss," he stood. "This the new shrink?" He grinned at Mohinder and offered his hand. Mohinder frowned at 'shrink' but received a solid handshake and shook it off. "Officer Parkman. Matt."

"Doctor Suresh. Mohinder," he said, echoing Parkman's curious look. The officer studied him a long moment, smile widening. 

"Well, I assume they filled you in on everything." He rocked back on his heels, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He too had a gun on his belt.

"No, not a thing."

"Welcome to the Company," Officer Parkman grinned.

Bob walked around Parkman's desk, shaking his head at the clutter. "Anything new?" He was clicking through CCTV footage on the officer's desktop, stopping on footage of the corner of an empty white room when Mohinder came up behind him. 

Parkman swept the papers and sandwich into an open drawer with his arm. He gave an apologetic look to Mohinder. "No sir, just the yoozh." Mohinder couldn't place his slightly drawling accent.

"Well," Bob said, clapping a single loud time as he turned to Mohinder. "Ready to get started? Nothing too much, just get your feet wet before you settle in, yes?"

"Um. I don't think I have a choice." Bob just laughed softly; Parkman settled back in his seat. The squeal of his chair filled the awkward silence between them as Mohinder fiddled with his bag strap. "I guess I'll," he motioned to the door behind Parkman's desk. Bob nodded, organizing files he pulled from the desk drawer. Parkman nodded, already tucked back in his sandwich. 

Mohinder zapped his card at the door and glanced around the brightly lit white walled room beyond. There was maybe a five foot wide space on his side, a larger one beyond a very thick clear wall.  _ Like a zoo _ he thought. There was a bed in the center across the partition, thin sheets made up tight with methodical precision. Next to it stood a plastic table, a large stack of hardbacks aligned up by size on the edge. A clear acetate chair straight from the sixties was tucked beneath the edge. A frosted glass partition stood in the corner, offering the only suggestion of privacy.

"Well, you're new."

Mohinder turned from his inspection and was face to face with the man who had been worrying him so. Gabriel Gray was leaning one shoulder against what looked to be six inches of clear plexiglas, but that wasn't enough to dampen the primal sense of fear pouring through Mohinder's veins. 

He had the same cocky grin as the photograph, but that was about all. He looked hale and healthy, with smooth skin and a hint of color high on his cheeks. His hair was slicked back, opening his face.

His eyes were sharp, following Mohinder as he shut the door and looked around the room again. He had them hooded half closed, portraying a lazy boredom to match the hands hanging loose in his white scrub pants. 

Mohinder sat heavily in the single plastic chair on his side of the room, setting his bag down on the matching table. He didn't bother taking off his coat but he unwound his scarf from his neck, watching his new subject from the corner of his eye. 

He knew that the eyes on him were a predator's eyes - not a shark, no, not really - but there was a similarity in the intensity of his stare. A deadly focus. 

"Did I already break the last one?" Mohinder heard the grin widening his voice but paid him no heed. 

Mohinder sighed and placed his neatly folded scarf against his bag, pulling out a notepad and pen. He left the files in his bag. Out of sight but not out of mind; they rattled around his head as he started making diagnoses. 

He eventually gave in and looked up at Gray.

He hadn't moved, hands still in his pockets, tight shoulders betraying his act of casualness. His eyes were wide and unblinking, eyebrows raised as he waited for an answer.

_ Egocentric _ , Mohinder jotted down, already annoyed with the man's attitude. He looked back up, pen tapping the corner of his mouth as he took in the differences between the faxed photo and the man in front of him. Disheveled and crazed looking on paper, a slick ease in person, even in a glass prison and flimsy scrubs too short for his legs.  _ Manic. _ Mohinder frowned and added a question mark. 

"You know why I'm here, Mr. Gray," he said without looking up. 

Gray laughed, loud and angry, and Mohinder shrank back. "Oh, I should know. Do you not? I don't think you do, if you're calling me  _ Mr. Gray _ ."

"Gabriel, then."

The man smiled, but did not laugh. "That is _ not _ my name. Didn't they tell you anything?" His voice dropped an octave, filling the room with growling menace. 

"I have your files." Mohinder wanted to look away. 

Gray tilted his head and blinked slow. "Do you have all of them?" 

Mohinder hoped so. He couldn't imagine what else there could be.  _ Personality dsrdr?  _ Mohinder shorthanded without looking down. "Why don't you tell me, then? Who are you?" He didn't add 'why am I here' but the angle of Gray's eyes said he picked it up. 

"You can't expect me to bare it all so soon? You haven't even warmed me up, yet." He stretched, long and lazy, coming down to rest his wide hands on the glass. "What's  _ your _ name?"

Mohinder crossed his legs and leaned back. "Doctor Suresh."

"Suresh," Gray looked introspective as he tasted the name. "Should I just call you Doctor, then?"

"That is why I am here. It would be appropriate."

Gray smiled again. "What about me, then? Will you just call me 'patient'? Or 'killer'? How about 'God'?"

"Excuse me?"

Gray laughed, crossing his arms over his chest and rocking back on his heels. His feet were bare and pale against the concrete floor. "Did they tell you _ anything _ ?" Mohinder ignored him and he continued with a delighted shiver, "This is  _ fun _ ."

Mohinder was decidedly not having fun. He was fourteen thousand kilometers from home, stuck in a room with a lunatic. He didn't answer, letting boredom cross his face.  _ Megalomaniac _ he jotted in his notes. 

"Give me a quarter," Gray demanded. Mohinder blinked but didn't jump at his order. The man rolled his eyes and held out his hand. "A dime, a nickel, I don't care."

Mohinder sighed and let him stand, flapping his fingers impatiently, another moment. He dug around the front pocket of his bag and found a one rupee coin. 

Gray shook his head toward the singular opening in his cell. It looked like a bank deposit box, clear plexiglass like the rest of it, only able to open one side at a time. He held the coin up between his first fingers, showing Gray as he met him on the other side and set it in the box. 

Gray pulled it out, flipping it around in his hand. "Cool," he said. As close as they were, Mohinder could see his eyes better, slightly puffy, stress lines pulling at the corners. They were a dark cool brown, not the black they had appeared to be across the room. His mouth pulled down at one side in a frown of concentration.

Mohinder looked down at the coin resting in his palm. Gray ducked and met Mohinder's eyes, winking at him with a grin. Mohinder scoffed, stepping back with crossed arms. Gray's smile didn't drop, but the coin did as he raised his hand. Palm up, the coin dripped liquid and thick down his wrist.

Baffled, Mohinder leaned in. He rested his hands against the plastic wall and followed the thin liquid river with his eyes and head. Gray raised his hand, pulling Mohinder's eyes to the lowest drip, and didn't understand what he was seeing. The droplet was swelling, pulling back up against gravity, winding around the sparse hair on the underside of Gray's arm to puddle back in his flat palm. 

Mohinder watched it swirl, quicksilver and alive. 

Gray cupped the metal with an ostentatious curl of his hand. He flicked his wrist and the metal shot from his palm as if from a gun, flying straight into the cement wall. Mohinder saw it, a solid ball embedded deep, saw Gabriel Gray, pleased as punch and looking for all the world like a puppy expecting praise - Mohinder looked between them and ran. 

He slammed the door behind him, startling the officer at his desk. 

"Shit!" Officer Parkman slammed the newspaper he had been holding down, pushing to his feet as Mohinder rested his head back on the door and waited for the panic to leave his veins. Parkman looked at him funny but Mohinder just didn't care. The scene circled his brain while he remembered how to breathe. 

Parkman laughed softly and Mohinder glared. The policeman waved him down, sitting back in his chair. He leaned it back at such an angle Mohinder was surprised he stayed upright. "The bastard playing games?"

Mohinder shook his head, to clear it, not to negate the statement. "What is going on here?" His voice held a slight gasp. 

He was cut off by a second voice coming up the hall behind him. "I take it you've met Sylar." Mohinder turned. The new man, older, walking with a cool confidence to lean on Parkman's desk, took off his horn rimmed glasses to clean them with a cloth from his pocket. 

"Mister Bennett," Mohinder said, recognizing his voice. 

"Doctor Suresh," Bennett teased. He slid his glasses back on and offered his hand. "Now you see why we have the NDA."

Mohinder looked at the offered hand a moment before taking it. He squeezed Bennett's hand and felt his composure crack. "What the hell was that?"

"What did he do?" Bennett asked Parkman. Mohinder knotted his eyebrows and slid his hands in his pants pockets. 

"Uhh," Parkman stalled as he wound back the closed circuit video from the room. "Oh, uh, the coin thing." Bennett flipped open a cell phone, barking orders for a cleanup crew. Code Taylor. 

Mohinder half listened as he watched Gray grab the molten ball in double time as it bounced off the wall, drip down and up his arm and reform in a rupee. The video started running forward and Mohinder turned away as fear grabbed his neck with cold fingers again. 

Gray's eyes were black on the video, black and following Mohinder through the room without blinking. 

"Wait." Bennett turned as Mohinder held up a hand for attention. "Sylar?"

"Yes," Bennett nodded. "Sylar is what he calls himself. He started doing so when," he waved his hand for the word and shrugged. 

"What did he do? What is going on?"

Bennett rolled his shoulders. "Do you want to pull up a chair?"

"No. What is going on?" Mohinder felt panic rise in terror's wake. He struggled to keep it reigned in. 

"How well do you know  _ Activating Evolution _ ?"

Mohinder signed. "Well enough to not follow in my father's footsteps. He was obsessed. He thought there were evolved people, people with … powers …"

"Yes," Bennett egged. 

Mohinder shook his head. He slammed his fist back in the door behind him. "No, there's - there's no proof people can, that evolution has created these hypothesized  _ powers _ , it's lunatic -"

"It's not."

"No!" Mohinder pushed off the door and moved to Bennett's face. The man didn't flinch. Mohinder slammed his hand on the desk. "There's some other explanation! This isn't fucking real!" Parkman patted his hand and Mohinder snatched it away. "This is insane! My father - my father wasn't well after - he sought answers and found  _ madness _ ! This is madness!"

"For good or bad," Bennett shrugged, "This is human evolution. You've just met your father's patient zero."


	2. One

'Code Taylor' cleanup meant an extraction team came down. Literally. 

Mohinder watched from the computer screen as Gray,  _ Sylar _ , he corrected with a mental shiver, raised his hands from his spot by the divider. He folded them over his head as three men entered from the door at the back of the cell. Two had guns raised and one, a tall thin black man, came in with just an attitude and crossed arms. 

Sylar sighed visibly. One of the guards snapped at him. 

"Is there audio?" Mohinder asked. Officer Parkman nodded, adjusting the speakers and input. 

”- Boys and your big  _ guns _ ," Sylar's voice rose from the computer. He kept his hands high as one guard turned away to pull forceps from his pocket and dig the metal slug from the wall. Sylar tapped his foot, looking bored. "I didn't scare him away, yeah? He seems fun."

He looked right at the camera and smiled, crooked and smug. Mohinder frowned. 

"Don't let him get to you," Parkman said. 

"He does this often?"

"He shows off, when it suits him." Parkman shrugged. "He usually waits, though. More dramatic." Bennett excused himself out of the room as his cell phone rang. 

Mohinder sat on the desk corner and tried to ignore the eyes burning through the screen behind him. "So, really. What is this place?" he asked quietly, eyes darting to the door closed behind Bennett. 

Parkman sighed and leaned back. "The Company is a research facility. Sorta. There are people with powers across the world, and they kinda track them and study 'em here."

"And keep them captive?" Mohinder motioned to the screen. On it, Sylar had turned his attention back to the guards. He looked annoyed. So did the silent man. The armed men looked nervous. 

"Only … uh, Sylar is a special case. I'm sure you know?"

"They sent me a bunch of files insinuating he has a history of killing people."

"Insinuating. Sure, if by 'insinuating' you mean caught red handed. The red being blood." There was no humor on Parkman's face. 

Mohinder swallowed. His throat felt constricted. "Why am I here?" Half hypothetical, half pleading. 

Parkman shook his head. "They don't let me know. I'm just, uh, the muscle. They've had a few shrinks come in and check him out."

"You know, we don't  _ really _ like the term 'shrinks'," Mohinder said with a smile. 

"Shit, man, sorry."

"It's alright." Mohinder yawned. His stomach rumbled loudly. 

Parkman laughed. "Up for an apology lunch?" Mohinder looked at him sideways. Parkman patted his stomach. "Don't worry about me - I'll find somewhere to put it."

"Help Doctor Suresh find his room while you're at it," Bennett said as he reentered. "Come back when you're settled." It wasn't a suggestion. 

The two men ducked out the moment the replacement officer Bennett called for came in. 

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


"So. Sylar," Mohinder said in lieu of a greeting as he reentered the cell two hours later. 

" _ Mmm _ . That's better. Take off your coat, pull up a chair. I'd offer you a drink, but," he motioned grandly to his bare cell, "Provisions are lacking."

"Stop. This isn't a social call." Mohinder paused at the table, taking his time setting his bag down and shrugging off his coat. He didn't look up until he was settled, pen in hand and pad of paper on his lap. 

Sylar was smiling, leaning one shoulder against the plexiglass wall. The chunk of missing brick he had shot the rupee into was just visible over his shoulder. "Isn't it, though? You run me through the dull 'getting to know you' questions, and I pretend I'm not thinking of shoving you against the wall and making you  _ scream _ ."

Mohinder blinked and forced his face blank. Sylar leered. "Are you always like this?"

It took a solid few seconds for Sylar's face to crack into laughter. "Oh, come on. You act like you've never been  _ propositioned _ before."

"Never by a murderous psychopath."

"Ooo, the big 'P' word already! Tell me, Doctor, did you come to that diagnosis on your own, or are you copying from someone's notes?" Sylar dragged his plastic chair loudly across the room and threw himself down. He watched Mohinder expectantly. 

Mohinder sighed. "That was out of line. I … apologize."

"Do you now?" Sylar's voice rumbled low. He sat back in the chair and cleared his throat. "I saw you taking notes. Before. What do they say?"

Mohinder had never had a client ask that before. But - was Gray, Sylar, really his client? Or just the subject? He looked over the quick scribbles he had made and decided to play along. "Egocentric," he said, watching Sylar nod along. "Megalomaniac."

"Oh, you're just scratching the surface. What about my _ real _ problems? Am I ever going to know _ why _ I am this way?" he teased.

"And what way would that be?" 

"Hmmm. Are you asking how I see myself?"

Mohinder shrugged. "Sure."

"I told you already."

"A killer? That's all you are?"

"No, Doctor. I'm a God," he teased. "I'm the evolution of homo sapiens. I can do _ anything _ ."

"With … your power? With telekinesis?" he dragged the word from the back of his mind, a word he never expected to use outside of Stephen King novels. 

Sylar laughed. "You  _ really _ need to get caught up. I just … requisitioned that particular power. And the melting one, did you catch that?"

Mohinder swallowed. "I saw. What do you mean,  _ requisitioned _ ?”

“Do you want me to tell you, or do you want the sterile casefiles?”

“Just tell me.”

Sylar's grin fell. “I take the powers wasted on weak people. I tear them open, and I take what makes them special for myself."

Mohinder silently processed for a moment. "You kill people," he said slowly, "For their powers? There are other people who can … do what you do?"

"Oh, no one does what I can do."

"How did you find you could," Mohinder waved for the word.

Sylar leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "There's a book you should read.  _ Activating  _ -"

"I know it," Mohinder interrupted. He realized he was clenching a fist so hard he has almost broken the skin of his palm with his nails. He shook it out with a frown.

"Touchy, touchy," Sylar grinned. He was suddenly too close. Mohinder sat back, feet on the ground.

Sylar waved his hand, bored. "Human genome project, my genes showed the hypothesized marker for powers. It wasn't until later I found out  _ how _ powerful I am." He watched Mohinder, head tilted in curiosity. "Say, Doctor. You ever meet a powered person before? Am I your  _ first _ ?" 

Mohinder ignored him, finding the flash of annoyance across Sylar's eyes amusing. He toyed with his pen. "How many powers do you have?" There were just over a dozen murder cases in his files - some with multiple victims. But how many had been powered? 

_ How many people _ ** _ had _ ** _ powers _ ? His father had hypothesized no small number.  _ Thousands? Tens of...  _ ** _hundreds_ ** _ of thousands?  _

Sylar grinned. "A few," he teased. 

Mohinder didn't back down from his lingering stare. "Show me."

Sylar answered with a laugh, "I'll show you mine when you show me yours."

"I don't have a power," Mohinder said, cringing at his defensiveness. 

"Pity." Sylar leaned heavy against his knees, letting his fingers toy against the glass divider. 

Mohinder pulled the questioning back around. "Why do they keep you behind glass?"

"Protection." His fingertips were white, pressed so hard against the partition. 

"From what? Or … for them," he nodded. "Your powers can't permeate it."

"So they say."

Mohinder tapped his pen against his leg. "Have you tried?"

Sylar leaned back with a sigh. "No, I thought I'd just sit here and be a good boy."

"Somehow, I doubt that." Sylar chuckled, low and deep with pleasure. Goosebumps broke along Mohinder's neck. "How did you end up here?" Mohinder asked, rubbing his shoulder. He was tense.

Sylar sat back and shrugged. "I got caught."

"On purpose?" 

He watched confusion color Sylar's face. "How'd you know?" Mohinder didn't answer. Sylar's face twitched. "Do you believe in destiny, Doctor?"

"Destiny?"

"Yes. Destiny. Fate. Inevitability." He leered, "Karma."

Mohinder sucked a sharp breath in through his nose, forcing himself to breathe out slowly. "I am aware of the notion."

"'Aware of the notion'," he snorted. "You're cute." He waited, rolling his eyes when Mohinder wouldn't be baited. "I'm here because I'm supposed to be. Why are you here, doctor? Did karma pull your strings, too?" 

Mohinder didn't reply and Sylar smiled like that was all the answer he needed. He was antsy under the man's eyes, losing the fight against pointless fidgeting. 

With a sigh of exasperation, he stood. "If you cannot be serious, we're done for the day."

"You'll be back tomorrow," Sylar rushed in a jumble of question and demand. He leapt to his feet. 

Mohinder didn't look up as he put his coat on. "Yes," he said finally. He gathered his notes in his bag and the skin crawled on the back of his neck - heavy and warm like a touch. He glanced back, brushing over his neck and chalking the feeling off to the weight of Sylar's eyes. 

"Oh," he paused, hand on the door. "If you ever -" he twirled his finger around the room and looked back over his shoulder, "- ever get out of here. Maybe don't flirt under the guise of a  _ threat _ ."

Sylar burst out laughing. "I thought you were ignoring me."

"It wasn't very subtle."

"Neither's murder. Subtle's not really my thing."

"And what is your  _ thing _ , Sylar?"

Mohinder was regretting the question as Sylar's face pulled into a leer. "Getting what I want."


	3. Chapter 3

Mohinder tried to wait for the morning sun to rise but pried himself from the comforters when it still hadn't escaped the clouds by ten o'clock. Passing out on the plane meant he hadn't been able to find much sleep that night anyway. He shuffled to the bathroom, pulling back the curtains on his way. It was another sad gray day, ice frosted along the edges of the glass. 

Officer Parkman had looked apologetic showing him his quarters the day before, on the third story of a shallow building housing tiny suites, offices with closed doors, and the greasy smelling cafeteria. ("It's not personal, man, we've all got the same.")

He had continued to talk through their lunch, Mohinder nodding, half listening as he scraped the excess mayonnaise from the freshest looking sandwich from the cafe cold case. The second half was still in the tiny refrigerator tucked under the equally tiny kitchenette in the corner of his rooms. Mohinder barely tasted it as he dug through the closet - a couple shirts and sweaters hung in the back, slacks and jeans in an assortment of sizes folded on a shelf beneath them. 

Everything smelled dusty. 

He settled on two drab sweaters layered for warmth but forwent the borrowed pants. He'd rack up the expense card later. 

He'd wasted a disappointingly short twenty minutes before he finally left the room with a sigh. 

The hallways were empty to the elevator, the only signs of life downstairs the murmurs of voices behind closed office doors. Mohinder jumped when a security guard stood to meet him.

"You must be … Doctor Suresh," he said after a glance at his clipboard. 

"Yes. Good morning." 

"Do you need me to call a car?"

"Uh, no, that won't be - I'll be fine, thank you." The guard nodded and opened the door for Mohinder, watching him with dark hawk eyes as he slid by. 

"Have a good day, Doctor Suresh." He shut the door and waited as Mohinder shivered under his coat, kicked his feet through a snow pile and left. He had not been prepared for the cold, used to the humidity and pleasant heat of home. He'd been in the States a couple months back to bury his father; the weather had been warmer then, a stark contrast to his visit's purpose. 

The walk to the corner of the compound housing Sylar was short and he did it much quicker than he had wanted in a vain effort to keep warm. His access card beeped as the heavy door unlocked. Identity checked, signed in, access granted, and down the hall he went. 

"Doctor!" Parkman pushed back from his desk, the squeal of his chair on the tile pulling Mohinder from the depths of his funk. He glanced at the clock and Mohinder waved him down. 

"I know. I know, just -"

"Hey, it's cool. How was the night?"

"Too long." 

Parkman nodded. "Don't I know. You look exhausted. So, what time is it, back home?"

"It's the middle of the night." He swung his bag around his back, smacking the corner of the desk. "Damn!"

"Shit. You okay?" Mohinder nodded, eyes blinking slow in exasperation. "You, uh, try to call home last night? Kinda unwind? I think you need it, man."

Parkman turned bright puppy dog eyes on Mohinder and his funereal mood hit him again with the crash of a wave. 

"I have no one to call. If you don't mind -" Mohinder gestured to the door, "- I'm late."

Parkman huffed and dug through his keyring. "You know, there isn't really a schedule -"

Mohinder ignored him, feeling guilt nip at him as he brushed past.

Sylar's head snapped up as soon as the door opened. He jumped from the chair. "You're late."

Mohinder watched him a moment - his hands curling in loose fists, toes tapping the ground. "You're not going anywhere." Sylar laughed, the tension leaking from his limbs. 

Mohinder ignored him as he got settled, pulling out his laptop. He was more comfortable taking digital notes, his handwriting had always been hard to decipher when he went back to it. He felt Sylar's eyes on him the whole time. 

"Shit." The computer wouldn't turn on. He smacked the side of it, more out of frustration than the thought that it could actually help. 

Sylar tapped on the glass, pulling his attention up. "Give me that," he nodded to the laptop. 

"What? Why?"

Sylar shrugged. "Continue hitting it, then. See if that works."

Mohinder glared, at Sylar and his laptop in turn. He had years of research archived on the computer, notes from therapy sessions, lesson plans. It was all backed up - in Chennai. He looked up at the security camera and decided that if he was doing anything not allowed, he would be stopped. 

He expected Officer Parkman to burst in, armed guards stopping him from sliding contraband through the box in Sylar's wall. But really, they never _ had _ told him what he could and couldn't do.

Sylar simply smiled and took the computer, turning it over in his hands and giving it a little shake. 

"You fix a lot of electronics, then?" Mohinder asked, sitting on the edge of the table. 

"Nope." Sylar folded to the floor, letting the laptop float in front of him. He tilted his head and held out his hand; the tiny backing screws unwound and piled neatly in his palm. Panels and boards flew free from the casing. Sylar let them gently turn above his hands, careful not to touch them. Mohinder felt as though the air had been siphoned from the room, his chest tight and vision narrowed on the floating electronics and the man conducting their flight. 

He forgot all about the weight of the lonely night before, the grim morning and New York's suffocating milieu. 

Mohinder watched him, quiet and focused, maneuver the power connector free. Sylar looked it over thoughtfully. He hummed in victory and glanced up. He flashed his eyes at Mohinder, the corner of his mouth curling again as he turned back to his work. 

Mohinder sat transfixed as Sylar melted and tightened and repositioned everything he had pulled out, putting it back in the casing neat and tidy. He set it back in the box. "That should do you."

Mohinder was skeptical until he plugged it back in and it booted right away. "How did you know what was wrong?"

Sylar shrugged. "It was easy, once I took it apart." He fell back into the chair, legs casually loose. 

Mohinder set the laptop down, turning his full attention to Sylar behind the glass. "Is it the same with people?"

" _ Oh _ , yes. When they're open for me, people are so easy. Alive," he motioned up and down Mohinder's body, "It's all messy emotions, lies and half truths, guilt and pain and … people are easy when they're dead."

"Are the dead still people? Without all the emotions, lies and guilt? Without the pain?"

Sylar's eyes softened, looking through Mohinder and far away for a second before he blinked hard. "Yes."

Mohinder hummed, opening a new document. 

"I was a watchmaker." Sylar's sudden interjection brought Mohinder's attention back to him. "Well, I repaired them. I did make a few, out of spare parts, but - it was a lot like people. Once I'm  _ in _ something, it all comes together, I understand it."

"Really? Has it always been that way?"

Sylar nodded. "As long as I can remember. Your computer, a watch, a person. They're all wired together, it's just knowing what you're looking for once you're inside. I just  _ know _ , is all."

"It's really that easy?"

"When I was a kid, my mother's old Marconi TV went out. She was gone, bible study or something, so I took it apart. She could have gone apoplectic when she came home, seeing me sitting there surrounded by its parts."

"Did you fix it?"

"Of course. I wouldn't be here if I hadn't, do you know how much an antique like that costs?" he said glibly. 

Mohinder ran his tongue over his teeth, fingers poised over the word echoing in his head - Sylar certainly wouldn't be the first serial killer to have faced childhood abuse. 

"So tell me about your childhood," Mohinder said instead, not wanting to make assumptions. 

"Don't bore me," Sylar bit. 

" _ You _ don't bore  _ me _ . Tell me something else, then."

"Like what?" Sylar closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. 

Mohinder tapped his fingers. "Tell me how you kill."

That worked. Sylar sat forward, eyebrows low as he stared. " _ How _ ?"

Mohinder nodded, not dropping his eyes. 

" _ How _ , Doctor, depends on the person.  _ How _ could be a quick choking, it could be snapping their bones as I slam them into a wall, it could be a long, torturous rending of limbs." He smiled, coy. "It could be _ very _ long."

"Do you touch them?"

The smile fell from Sylar's face. "Excuse me?"

"Your victims - the people you kill. Do you touch them?"

"Why do you? ... no. No, I don't."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Because I don't want to." Sylar crossed his arms. "Because I don't _ have _ to."

Mohinder looked down at his blank screen. "You don't _ want _ to because you don't _ have _ to, or you don't _ have _ to so you don't _ want  _ to?"

"I don't touch  _ any _ body I don't want to." It took serious effort not to squirm as Sylar's eyes slowly traveled the length of Mohinder's crossed legs.

"You kill people, with your power, telekinetically -"

"That's not the only power I use."

Mohinder leaned forward, "What other powers do you have?"

"I told you," Sylar smiled. "I'll show you mine -"

"I have none! I can't show you powers because I don't have one! I have nothing -" Mohinder huffed and stood.

"Where are you going?" Sylar leapt to his feet.

"I need to stretch my legs," Mohinder grumbled. He paced the room before turning heel and snapping, "Give me something! I'm here, for better or … whatever, just. Don't waste my time!"

Sylar stared at him, one hand pressed against the glass. "The first man I killed," he said quietly. "I used my hands. And the second."

"Why did you even kill the first time?"

"He wanted his power taken away. I did that for him."

"Mister … Davis," Mohinder dug from his memory of Sylar's files. 

"Yes. Brian Davis. He asked me to take it, to free him. I just provided -"

"You murdered him," Mohinder couldn't hide the disgust in his voice. 

"He didn't _ deserve _ it! He was weak!" Sylar roared. "I did _ exactly _ what he asked and now I'm _ using _ his power, his legacy lives on in me as it  _ never _ would have with him."

"And that's how you're justifying it?"

"I don't need to justify the truth, Doctor. Brian Davis died so his ability could thrive." Sylar stood back from the glass, only moving his hands, and everything in his room rose off the ground. His bed, the chair behind him, even the book and paper cup of water flew free from the floating end table. It all settled back down perfectly, seemingly effortlessly, as Sylar orchestrated it behind his back. 

Mohinder didn't realize he wasn't breathing until his aching lungs gasped in air. Sylar chuckled, the soft baritone itching down Mohinder's spine.

"There's _ so much _ I wanna show you, Doctor."


End file.
